The Dalek Invasion of Hetalia
by J.S. Marshall
Summary: The Hetalia world is turned upside-down when the Daleks invade. Epic-ness ensues. OC: Scotland, Cornwall, Ireland, Westarctica, Mexico and Wales, Pairings: Geritalia, Spamano, USUK, Austria/Switzerland, Canada/Ukraine. OC Pairing: Czechoslovakia.
1. Chapter 1: Average Day

A lone fighter flew through the air. It was night, and flying above the clouds as it was, it gave the pilot a splendid view of the stars. America leaned back, taking in the vastness of the universe. The stars shimmered as America watched, taking it all in. Space was a vast and wonderful place, and America was proud to be one of the few nations to visit it. Only Russia had beaten him there, but he preferred not to think about that. He just wanted to appreciate the beauty of the stars for now.

America gazed at the moon. He knew for a fact that he was the only nation to set foot _there_. Russia had never made it, and he was too busy recovering from the collapse of the Soviet Union to try again for a while. Japan and China were trying, but they had a ways to go yet. It had been fun, bouncing around, planting his flag, and collecting moon rocks as proof that he had been there.

As he watched, America noticed something odd. Black shadows were appearing, moving around, blocking his view of the moon. He rubbed his eyes and sat up.

"You're falling asleep; that's not good," he muttered to himself. He snapped his seat into the upright position, strapped back in, and switched back over to manual control. A few aerial stunts always woke him up.

After a complex, adrenaline-pumping series of stunts, America's proximity alarm went off. He was approaching something. This something was very large, very airborne, and unlike all the clouds he had passed on this mostly clear night, very solid.

America's plane punched through the next cloud to reveal the _Valiant_. The _Valiant_ was one of the marvels of modern engineering. She was unique among aircraft carriers in that she not only carried aircraft, but also _was_ an aircraft. More than twice the size of a seagoing carrier, she also carried the distinction of being America's destination.

America brought the fighter in for a smooth landing, slowing at the end of the runway and taxiing out of the way. He unfastened his safety harness and popped the latch of his cockpit. As it hissed up on its hydraulics, America stood up.

"Put your hands in the air and identify yourself!" a voice yelled. America looked down and spotted a man in a UNIT military uniform pointing a shotgun at him with unwavering aim. America winced as a floodlight shone in his face.

"What kind of reception is that for a hero?" he yelled back, a big mischievous grin on his face.

Another man approached. Like the gunman, he wore the black fatigues of a UNIT soldier, but he lacked the red beret the other man wore, instead showing his untidy sandy-blond hair. A notably bushy pair of eyebrows was clearly visible even from where America was standing. "Relax, Switzerland, it's only America," the man said in a crisp, clear accent, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder. The gunman lowered his shotgun almost regretfully, revealing a pair of beady teal eyes from behind the scope.

"I'll refrain from shooting, but don't ask me to _relax_, England," he grumbled.

England rolled his eyes. "Go put that thing away," he ordered. Switzerland, though clearly annoyed, complied with the order.

"England!" America said, his grin growing even bigger. He clambered out of his cockpit and slid to the ground. "What's up, British dude?"

"America," England replied stiffly, "what do you want?"

America shrugged. "I was getting bored at home, so I decided to come and see if you guys could use some help from a hero!"

"It's not like anything is happening right now."

"Well, then, maybe if something comes up. Nothing's happening at my house right now except an election, and to be honest, it's giving me a headache," America said, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. From how England always talked about it, the Unified Intelligence Taskforce was one of the most action-packed jobs in the world.

England winced in sympathy. He knew how bad elections could get, and he knew that in America, they tended to be even worse. Hell, for eight of the past eleven years, due to a major screw-up by the judiciary, America's boss was an even bigger idiot than America himself!

"Well, I guess you can stay, then…" England was cut off by a huge bear hug.

"Thanks, England," America said.

"Mmf," England replied.

"Hey, Romano, whatcha doin'?" Spain asked, walking up to the dark-haired man sitting at the desk.

"I'm-a working, dammit. Leave-a me alone," Romano growled.

"Okay, I'll just sit down here and keep you company."

"There's-a no other chairs, you bastard."

"I'll sit on the floor." And so he did.

Presently, Spain got bored just sitting there and watching his boyfriend work, so he decided to crawl around and find something to do.

A few minutes later, Romano slammed down his pen and pulled his chair out, glaring under the desk. "I told you to knock it off-a!"

Italy poked his head in the door. "Hey-a, nii-chan, who are you yelling at?"

Romano felt the heat rising to his cheeks. He didn't want his innocent little brother to know what was going on. Veneziano was an idiot, but he _was_ still Romano's brother, dammit!

"I wasn't-a yelling at anybody, dammit!" Romano winced inwardly at the transparent lie and hastily tried to cover for it. "I, ah, just got off-a the phone with, uh, America. Now get out of my office, you little bastard!"

Italy shrugged. He was used to that kind of language from his brother, so he didn't really mind.

"All right-a. I just-a wanted to tell you that I'm-a going over to Germany's house," Italy said cheerfully.

"Not that potato bastard _again_, Veneziano," Romano groaned.

"He's-a my friend, Romano!" Italy said, indignant.

"Right, whatever, go away, you bastard," Romano said, somewhat distracted.

"Ciao!" Italy said, leaving.

Romano grunted in reply.

After Italy had left, Romano returned his attention to the nation under his desk. "Now what were you-a fucking trying to pull, bastard?"

"_Si_," replied Spain.

"THAT-A DOESN'T MAKE SENSE!" Romano yelled angrily.

Spain crawled out from under the desk and got up onto his knees. In this position, he was just a bit shorter than the man in the chair was. Spain reached up and stroked the unruly curl that stuck straight out from the front of Romano's otherwise rather organized hair. When he did so, something began happening in the general vicinity of the zipper that Spain had surreptitiously unzipped.

"Chigiii," Romano moaned in pleasure. "What…the hell…are you doing…you bastard?" he asked between deep, labored breaths.

"Shh," Spain said, holding his finger to Romano's lips. "You're so cute when you're like this." He stood up and, with the hair, gently pulled Romano up with him. Spain's face was mere inches from Romano's, and it drew closer until…

Their lips met, and Romano's eyes slammed shut. His head pounded as he attempted to reconcile how something so wrong could feel so _good_, dammit!

Spain's tongue now tickled Romano's lip. Romano gave it an opening, and fairly soon, their tongues were mingling closely.

Romano felt something happening and pulled away before it was too late.

"What was that about, dammit?" he grumbled.

"You're so cute when you're angry," Spain replied, giving Romano that annoying smile that was essentially Spain's default expression.

Romano glared at him, but behind his angry expression, conflict raged in his mind. Had he actually enjoyed that? How could something so wrong feel so good? How could something so wrong feel so _right_?

"Leave-a me alone."

"_Por que?_ We were just getting started," Spain said.

"Leave-a me alone, you bastard!" Romano yelled, shoving Spain away. Spain, seeing that it was no use talking to him, turned and left.

Romano sat back down at his desk, but found himself too distracted to do any work. He laid his head on his desk and started to think.

Italy walked into Germany's house to find Germany in a frilly apron, going at the mantelpiece with a dust-buster.

"Germany, Germany!" Italy called over the noise. Germany jumped at the appearance of two arms hugging him around the waist.

"Italy, please don't sneak up on me like that," Germany requested.

"Ve." Germany didn't know whether to interpret Italy's little verbal tic as an affirmative or a negative.

Germany turned and looked down at the little redhead. Italy's eyes were shut, like they almost always were. The one strange little curl stuck out from the right side of his head—Germany's right, Italy's left. Germany had learned long ago that by grabbing this curl, Italy would stop doing whatever weird, inexplicable thing he was doing, but the effect seemed to have a strange other effect, so Germany had decided that it was probably best not to mess with it. His face radiated this innocent, childlike quality. Germany couldn't explain the feeling he got whenever he saw that look on Italy's face. His best theory so far was that it might be that sensation that, in his house, they call "_Liebe_." At Italy's house, they called it "_Amore_." At France's house, they called it "_Amour_." At the houses of England and America and that other guy whose name he could never remember, they called it "Love."

Germany remembered, not without some embarrassment, one Valentine's Day when he had first realized his feelings for Italy. After several cultural misunderstandings, (for instance, Italy giving him red roses as a gift. In Germany's house, you only give red roses to someone you are seriously in love with, but in Italy's house, apparently it was something you do all the time) Germany had decided to propose to Italy. Italy had gone along with all Germany's courting with no idea what Germany was actually doing, so it took him as a complete shock. Naturally, he turned him down. It hadn't helped that the manual on relationship advice, which Germany had followed to the letter, was absolutely bogus, and the only friend Germany had asked for help was Austria, who was just as clueless about such matters as Germany was.

Germany had since come to terms with his rejection, and was able to tolerate Italy's stranger behaviors. Still, he wondered…if he had handled that differently, maybe, just maybe…

Germany's musings were interrupted by a hand waving in front of his face. He looked down. Italy was there, looking as cute as ever.

"Hey, Germany, you wanna play-a some football?" Italy asked. By football, he of course didn't mean American football, but rather _real_ football, what Americans would call "soccer."

Germany looked down at him. How could he refuse Italy? He was almost done cleaning anyway.

"Certainly, I'll come," he said calmly.

"_Molto bene!_" Italy cried happily.

"Hey, West, what's going…" Prussia's voice trailed off as he walked into the room and spotted Italy there. "Ah, Italy…I'll just leave you two alone, then." He turned to leave.

"_Nein, Bruder_, you're not intruding," Germany sighed.

"Hey-a, Prussia, do you want-a to play football with us?" Italy asked.

The albino turned back to them and flashed them his infamous grin. "You really think you stand a chance against the awesome me?" he laughed derisively.

"Please?"

Prussia's grin grew even bigger. "All right, but you don't stand a chance against me and my awesomeness."

"_Vee~_" Italy said, joyfully skipping out of the room with the football under his arm.

"We'll need another person so the teams can be equal," Germany said, his voice trailing away as he walked out of the room after Italy.

Prussia lingered for a moment, a shadow of concern crossing his grinning face. Something was happening there, he could tell. Prussia wondered if it was about time…

No. His little brother would figure it out soon enough.


	2. Meet Wales

Author's Note:

I would like to apologize for the lack of a story update this week. I've been away from my computer all weekend, and so haven't had a chance to write anything. I'll be more vigilant in the future.

Despite my best efforts, I can't seem to write anything that doesn't require an original character to flow the best it can. Below is the format for original characters that will appear in my fanfics. The one shown here, Wales, will appear in the next chapter. Other OC's will be introduced, using this format, in the chapters when they show up.

Wales

**Name: **Ianto Davies

**Age: **28

**Gender:** Male

**Country (The place your character is): **Wales (within the UK)

**Height:** 5'9"

**Weight:** 168 lb

**Personality: **Not nearly as boisterous as his brothers Scotland and England, but nothing to be trifled with either. Mostly stays at home keeping his pet dragon from eating all the sheep. Known for being a bit too rowdy at meetings, which is why England represents the UK at all World Meetings. He is notable for being an experienced alien fighter.

**Likes:** Sheep, rugby, the Beatles, leeks

**Dislikes: **England, Daleks, alien invasions

**Pet: **A dragon named Llewelyn

**How they are with other people (Like with their older sister/brother):  
><strong>England—Wales doesn't care for his little brother, but he's not as vehemently mean as Scotland is. He frequently teams up with him to fight alien invasions.

**Other: **As the home of the Torchwood Institute, Wales takes more of an interest in alien technology than England does, maybe even more than America does.

**Looks Like:** A young man, between the ages of Scotland and England, sporting jet-black hair, green eyes, and a trench coat. His eyebrows are notably huge, but what else can you expect from England's brother?


	3. Chapter 2: Days Off

Author's Note: I was up until midnight typing this, but it's finally done. Sorry for the schedule slips. Thanks to everyone who subscribed and reviewed. Hope you like Chapter 2.

* * *

><p>England led America into the <em>Valiant<em>'s command center.

"This is the command center," he said.

"Cool," said America, looking around. In the center there was a large chair fixed to the ground, presumably for whoever was commanding the ship. Switzerland sat there now, looking very dignified and imposing. In a normal setting, Switzerland was actually quite short, even actually a couple of inches shorter than England. But in this chair, Switzerland dominated the immediate attention of whoever entered the room—and England and America were no exception. His UNIT beret sat attractively atop his militarily cropped blond hair, and his back was absolutely rigid, stiff and unyielding, much like, (as America saw when he finally tore his gaze from the nation in the chair) the sensor officer.

Austria wore his old-fashioned frilly suit even as he sat manning the _Valiant_'s sensor station. His Mariazell was visible even over his headset and beret combined. A look of driven perfectionist concentration creased his brow. It looked like he hadn't smiled in centuries—and that wasn't exactly an inaccurate impression.

America looked around, but he didn't recognize anyone else right off the bat. The other two officers on the bridge—a young Asian man and a white-haired teenager with a puffin—gave off the air of nations, but they weren't ones America knew well.

America felt his stomach rumbling. "Hey, England," he began.

"What?"

"Are there any hamburgers aboard?"

* * *

><p>China looked up at the full moon. In his house, the moon was a sacred symbol. He always enjoyed looking up at the orb in the sky, so serene and peaceful. It was simple beauty itself.<p>

"It's so nice out, aru," he observed aloud.

"It's lovely," agreed Macau.

"I guess, if you like that sort of thing," Hong Kong shrugged. "You can barely see it where I live, cuz' of all the lights. What's with, like, all those spots moving around, though?"

"Huh? What spots, aru?" asked China, squinting and looking more closely.

"Those spots, like, up there! They're blocking out the moonlight," said Hong Kong, pointing. Macau got up and went inside.

"I'll get a telescope," Macau offered.

"You do that, aru," China agreed.

Within a minute, Macau had retrieved an aging telescope and handed it to China. China peered through it at the sky.

"That's very odd, aru," China murmured.

"What is it?" asked Macau.

"I don't know, aru," China said, baffled. "It seems to be some sort of…flying saucer?" he chanced.

"A flying saucer? Let me see that, Old Man," Hong Kong said, grabbing the telescope.

"Who are you calling old, aru?" China yelled.

Hong Kong looked through the telescope at the moon. "Those seem to be like, some kind of UFO all right," he agreed, ignoring China's outburst. "Do we have any way of seeing it better than an old telescope?"

"No. That's all we have, aru," China sighed.

"I know somewhere close we can go," Macau said.

"No! There is no method that we have to see the moon better!" China said, more adamantly now.

"Geez, dude, what's your problem?" Hong Kong asked.

"Oh, I don't know that he wants to talk to him, but I still think he's our best bet," Macau said, smiling mysteriously.

Hong Kong raised an enormous eyebrow. He didn't want to admit it, but his curiosity was piqued.

"Let's go, then," he shrugged.

Macau started to walk away, Hong Kong following closely, and despite his loud complaints and objections, China brought up the rear.

* * *

><p>"'Come see scenic Cardiff,' you said. 'Let's see the beautiful sights,' you said. These are some sights," the Principality of Wy seethed as she walked along behind her older brothers, Australia and the Principality of Hutt River.<p>

"Not a Rolls in sight," said Hutt River, raising a disapproving eyebrow. (Like almost all territories formerly held by England, Hutt River's eyebrows were of very notable size.) "At least it's clean, though."

"Oh, will you two stop bashing heads already? You're going on like young and old," Australia sighed. "Crikey, this city's a beaut. Don't go looking for perfection; you're never gonna find it on this world."

The two micronations didn't have a response to that, so they sort of lapsed into a tense silence.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Wy asked.

"Um, of course…" said Australia.

"No, you don't."

"You know, Wy, you really should respect your senior," Hutt River said.

"Oh, can it," Wy grumbled.

"I have a question," said a voice. Wy looked over her shoulder at her older sibling. "When can we see the sheep?"

"You'll get to see your sheep soon enough, New Zealand," Australia said.

Wy groaned inwardly. It wasn't just boys that were frequently idiots; apparently androgynous Pacific Islands of indeterminate gender were as well. She had never understood her sibling's love of sheep, and wasn't sure that she wanted to.

"No, s/he won't," Wy grumbled, "because we're lost in the middle of a _city_."

"Well, what do you want him to do about it?" New Zealand asked.

"Ask for directions!" Wy almost screamed.

"Calm down," Hutt River said, digging a finger in his now aching ear.

"We don't need directions," Australia insisted.

"Face it, Oz, we're lost," Wy grumbled.

"We're not lost. We're just a little…turned around, is all."

"Right. I'm sick of this. Ask that guy for directions."

"We don't need directions," Australia repeated.

"Look, Oz, if you're not going to ask for directions, I will."

"Wy, why?"

Wy shot Hutt River a death glare. "You had to say that. You just couldn't resist, could you?" she snarled at him. "Oh, when I'm done with you…"

"G'day, mate!" Australia said, hailing a passing man and strategically placing himself between Hutt River and Wy as he did so. (This is a normal situation; most of Australia's landmass separates the two micronations anyway.)

"Hullo! Lovely day, isn't it?" the man said in a thick Welsh brogue. He wore a trench coat and sported a cowlick of jet-black hair. "What brings you to Cardiff?"

"Vacation," Australia replied.

"Well, I hope you have a pleasant time. Was there a reason you stopped me?"

"Aye, actually," Australia said. "Name's Bruce Oswald Kelly. These are my little siblings. We kind of need directions." He held out a dirty hand. (Of course they're dirty. What do you expect? It's Australia!)

"Pleased to meet you, Bruce. I'm Ianto Davies," the man said, shaking his hand, then wiping the dirt on his coat. It was mostly dry, anyway.

"Ianto Davies?" Australia asked.

"Yes, why?" Wy did a quiet facepalm at this.

"Ianto…" Australia cast a quick glance up at the man's eyebrows to confirm his suspicions. "_Wales_?"

Davies cast a look over his shoulder to make sure no average citizens were within earshot. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Uncle Wales!" New Zealand bleated. S/he glomped the poor nation-tan that they had just encountered. "It's been too long!"

"Hey, there…man…person…" Wales said, awkwardly hugging New Zealand back. "Sorry, I don't get out much, and so I might not recognize you right off the bat. I might need reintroduction."

"Sorry, Uncle Wales. I'm Australia, in case you hadn't guessed."

"I had, in fact," Wales smiled. "I can't exactly forget eyebrows that are even bigger than little Iggy's."

Australia smirked at the thought of somebody calling Iggy "little." "This is my little brother, Hutt River, who we have not recognized as a country…" Australia went on.

"Even though I am already quite prosperous," Hutt River interrupted.

Australia continued. "And this is our baby sister, the Principality of Wy, who we _have_ recognized…"

"Chew on that, snooty-pants," Wy said, sticking her tongue out at Hutt River.

"And the one giving you the bear hug is New Zealand."

"Wait, New Zealand?" Wales asked. "I remember New Zealand!" he laughed suddenly, returning hir excited hug.

Wy tugged on Australia's sleeve. "So, who is this guy again?"

"Kiddo, this here's your Uncle Wales. He's Iggy's big brother. People don't see him all that much, generally."

"Why not?" Wy asked.

"Because I have to keep the dragon from eating the sheep," Wales explained.

"You do not have a dragon," Wy scoffed.

"I do too! His name's Llewelyn."

Australia whispered in her ear. "Just ignore him. It's like England and his fairies."

"It's a complete furphy," she said, rolling her eyes.

Wales decided to ignore her, mostly because he had no idea what she had just said. "So, would you guys like to see what I've been up to for the past few years?" he asked.

"Sure. It's not like we've got anything else to do," Australia shrugged.

"But what about the sheep?" asked New Zealand.

Wales laughed. "Don't worry, Zealand. You'll see your sheep soon enough."

* * *

><p>America and England returned to the command center after an impromptu midnight hamburger.<p>

Austria turned toward them. His beret was on the control panel and his headset was draped around his neck. "Sir, I'm detecting a number of spaceships entering Low Earth Orbit."

Switzerland got out of his chair and walked over. He leaned over Austria's shoulder, trying to ignore the close proximity and Austria's—dare he think it?—pleasant scent.

"They appear to be in a sort of a saucer configuration," Austria continued.

"Flying saucers! Awesome!" America whooped, running over.

"Hmm. Can you get a clearer reading on them?" Switzerland asked.

Austria typed in a command and held his headset up to his ear. After a moment he shook his head. "No sir. It appears that there is some sort of field that's interfering with most of the scanners."

"Well, keep monitoring what you can." Switzerland turned to head back to his chair. Being even that close was almost unbearable.

"Sir, it appears the ships are broadcasting a message. All channels."

"Let's hear it, then."

Austria flipped a switch, broadcasting the message for all to hear.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

"No." The word was quiet, but everyone heard it. Everyone turned to England, who had gone absolutely pale. All the blood had drained from his face. "It can't be."

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

"It can't be," England repeated.

"What?" Switzerland asked. "What is it?"

"Yeah, dude, what's wrong?" asked America.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

"What's wrong is that those saucers belong to the Daleks."

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

"They're the biggest threat we've ever faced, any of us."

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

"We're dead."


	4. Meet Westarctica and Ireland

Sorry! I've been absolutely horrid about updating. I've been sick for the past week, you see, and when you're working on the most ambitious chapter yet (almost all the Hetalia countries appear, and then some!) it's not really a good thing to be sick. To make it up to you, here's a couple of OC's that will appear in next week's chapter. Actually, I reckon I'll maybe just go to a fortnightly schedule, with OC's or something similar in intermittent weeks. Anyway, here's a new micronation and a ginger.

* * *

><p><strong>Name: <strong>Kenny Darvill

**Age: **11

**Gender:** Male

**Country (The place your character is): **the Grand Duchy of Westarctica

**Height:** 4'5"

**Weight: **94 lb.

**Personality: **Quiet, introverted, antisocial, cool

**Likes: **Penguins, science, cool weather, snow and ice

**Dislikes: **Global warming, Argentina

**Pet:** A penguin

**How they are with other people (Like with their older sister/brother):  
><strong>Canada—actually opens up to Canada, enjoys spending time with him  
>Argentina—if you want Westarctica to open up and talk at all, this is not the way to go about it! Westarctica cannot stand Argentina because Argentina is a big meanie to him<br>Sealand—shy, but opening up. Sealand is thrilled to know him because he's actually younger than his sea fort cousin

**Other: **While he looks an awful lot like Australia, he's actually most closely related to Ireland. He's a member of the whole British Commonwealth family, although he was never part of the Commonwealth or Empire. He hangs out with Sealand and the other micronations, but actually likes Canada best. When in full snow gear, he bears a startling resemblance to a certain death-prone character in a certain inappropriate cartoon…

**Looks Like:** Wears a bulky orange parka and snow pants at all times at his own house, frequently zipped up so tight that he is as incomprehensible as Sweden. In warmer climes, he goes down to just a red long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. He has sandy-blond hair, like Australia, and sizeable eyebrows.

* * *

><p>Eire (Ireland)<p>

**Name: **Sarah Connolly

**Age: **20

**Gender:** Female

**Country (The place your character is):** Republic of Ireland

**Height:** 5'7"

**Weight:** 114 pounds

**Personality:** kindhearted and short-tempered; superstitious; can be loud, can be quiet, but is usually outgoing and senseless

**Likes:** Whisky, potatoes, beer, tormenting England, cooking (she's terrible at it, though), fiddle playing, Austria (secret crush), France

**Dislikes:** England, being called 'drunk' or 'Irish witch'

**Pet:** lamb named Uan

**How they are with other people (Like with their older sister/brother):  
><strong>England—she hates England, but enjoys playing tricks on him  
>France—likes hanging out with France, getting together to play pranks on England and the like<br>Austria—has a secret crush on Austria (who wouldn't?) but rarely speaks to him. Violin practice is one of the few things they do together  
>Luxembourg—is very good friends with Luxembourg, and enjoys pranking him as much as she enjoys pranking France and almost half as much as pranking England. Despite this, they're very good friends and drinking buddies<p>

**Other: **She can see the mythical creatures too, and carries a hip flask of whisky (don't ask where. Okay fine. It's in her cleavage.)

**Looks Like:** ginger, big ol' eyebrows, wears a green Irish dress and white gloves, also wears a silver shamrock necklace


	5. Chapter 3: The Broadcast

Wales led the delegation from Broceania down to a run-down dock and into a small office and shop.

"Gosh, not much to look at, is it?" New Zealand said, raising a large eyebrow.

"That's kind of the intent," Wales smiled slyly back at them. "This way," he said, walking behind the desk. He hit a button hidden on the bottom of the desk and a section of the wall slid back. Wales gestured to it.

"After you," he said. Australia raised his eyebrows (the largest in the family, even outdoing England) and walked in. Hutt River hitched up his cape and crossed the threshold after him. New Zealand took Wy's hand and followed.

Australia walked through the dark, damp corridor. At the end, a gear-shaped door rolled open. Australia stepped out into a large, vaulted chamber. There were large computers, strange alien organs in jars, and assorted alien technology as far as the eye could see. He wandered in, looking at the various things around the room.

"Welcome to Torchwood," said a voice behind him.

Australia turned around to see Wales standing proudly behind him. "What is this place?" he asked.

"This, my friend, is the Torchwood Hub, currently the only remaining facility of the Torchwood Institute," Wales said.

"But what's Torchwood?" asked Wy.

"The Torchwood Institute was established more than a hundred years ago by Queen Victoria. Our original mission is to investigate alien technologies and reverse-engineer them for the security of the British Empire. But since the turn of the twenty-first century, our mission has turned more into the defense of Earth against extraterrestrial threats."

"Extraterrestrial threats? What sort of extraterrestrial threats could there possibly be?" Hutt River asked.

"Well, there's…" Wales trailed off as a buzzing came from one of the computers. "Excuse me." He went over to the computer and hit a button. Harsh, scratchy, electronic voices issued from the speakers.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

Australia saw that Wales had gone deathly pale. "What is it? What's wrong, mate?"

"You wanted extraterrestrial threats?" Wales smiled weakly.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

"Meet the most triumphant example."

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

"Daleks."

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

* * *

><p>"Can you see what they are? You've, like, got all these computers," Hong Kong said.<p>

"Well, yeah, but I don't have satellites," Korea replied.

Macau and Hong Kong stood by Korea's desk, which had an array of high-tech computers on it. Korea had paused his game of _Starcraft_ for them. China stood out of the way. He was out of groping range, but close enough to hear. Hong Kong and Macau had asked Korea for help in identifying the strange things eclipsing the moon.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to figure out something else, aru," China said.

"Hold on," Korea replied. "I didn't say I couldn't help."

"Well then, what are you, like, going to do?" asked Hong Kong.

"It's easy. I'll just use Japan's satellites," Korea grinned, turning back to his computer. Exiting from _Starcraft_, he opened up another program.

"How can you do that?" asked Macau.

Korea grinned, an innocuous expression that somehow seemed sinister in its own way. "Hacking was invented in Korea."

After a minute, Korea frowned, as did his hair. "That's weird. There's nothing."

"What?" Hong Kong asked. "Can't get in?"

"No, I got in fine. But there are no data feeds."

"That is because there is something jamming the tlansmissions." Japan's face appeared on the screen of Korea's computer. "Did you rearry think that I would be caught so off-guard, Korea-san?"

Korea blushed. "Uh, sorry, Japan."

"Ret that be a resson to you," Japan said sternly.

"Hang on," Korea said abruptly. "Hey, Japan, are you seeing this?"

"What is it?"

"There's a transmission coming in, from whatever's in orbit."

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

* * *

><p>Ireland sat in the pub and downed another whisky.<p>

"Tha's good," she smiled at the bartender. "Gimme another one."

The bartender looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "I dunno if that's a good idea, marm."

Ireland beckoned him closer, and once he was close enough she grabbed his collar. "Listen here, lad. When I say gimme whisky, I wan' me whisky," she growled. The bartender recoiled at the smell of alcohol on her breath. She was very clearly drunk.

Suddenly the rugby match on the telly went out, replaced by a new sound.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

* * *

><p>Russia sat in his favorite chair, rocking calmly back and forth, as he watched Lithuania knit a new sock for him. He was trying to ignore the prickling premonition that was making the back of his neck itch. He was pretty sure that he had felt this before, but he couldn't tell where.<p>

"Russia…"

_Oh, no._

"Let's get married, married, married, married…"

"Belarus!" Russia screamed, falling out of his chair.

"Russia, become one with me! You will whether you want to or not!" Belarus said, chasing him as he scrambled across the floor.

"NO!" Russia screamed. "General Winter, save me!"

Suddenly an anthropomorphic blizzard swept through the room, heading straight for Belarus. Belarus screamed, a bloodcurdling sound, and dived out of the way. She landed near the fireplace.

"Now, Russia, that was just mean," Lithuania said once General Winter had left.

"But I don't want to become one with Little Sister," Russia whimpered.

"There, there," Ukraine said, helping Russia up. Russia looked at her strangely. While he was terrified of his younger sister (just like everybody else), he had no idea what to make of his older sister.

Belarus was warming herself by the fire. It's a shock to anybody, when you're first attacked by General Winter. Lithuania sidled up next to her.

"You know, they say that the most effective way to warm up is human contact," he said suggestively.

"HIYA!" The next thing Lithuania knew, he was lying flat on his back with a bloody nose.

"Could you guys keep it down over there?" Estonia asked from his laptop. Latvia sat next to him, using the bespectacled older nation to shield himself from Russia's gaze.

Suddenly Estonia frowned. "That's weird. Do you mind if I turn on the speakers for a minute?" he asked no one in particular. That was an effective way, he found, of getting over the stress and terror of asking Russia a question directly.

"Go right ahead," Russia smiled. Estonia flinched, before unmuting the laptop.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

* * *

><p>"This place is great!" Seychelles laughed, floating in the pool.<p>

"I ain't gonna argue with a statement like that, little lady," Cuba beamed.

"And you-a say this is your first time at a resort?" Seborga asked incredulously.

"Not hers. Mine. Back under communism nobody could really afford to go to a resort," Cuba explained.

"Well, I hope you're all having a good time," Monaco said, walking up to the poolside.

"Miss Monaco, you look absolutely ravishing in-a that bikini," Seborga smiled.

Monaco smiled sweetly at him. "I'm very glad you think so."

"Oh, but I do."

"Hey, are we late?"

Everybody turned to look, except for Kugelmugel, who was to busy painting, and Greece, who was asleep. A young boy in swim trunks and a sailor hat was approaching. His trunks were patterned so that the upper left half of them (split diagonally) were red separated by a white stripe from the black lower right corner. An older and far taller man wearing glasses and a swimsuit featuring a yellow Nordic cross on a blue background accompanied him.

"Sealand! Sweden! Glad you could make it," Seborga grinned, waving.

"Hey, Seborga! Great to see you here."

"Wasn't-a Molossia supposed to come too?"

"He said he was busy with something at home and didn't want to be disturbed," Sealand explained.

"W' din't want t' argue w'th him," Sweden added.

"What'd he say?" asked Cuba.

"Dunno," Sealand shrugged. "Hey, is that a diving board?"

With Sealand's attention now so diverted, the previous conversations re-emerged.

"So-a, how have you-a been, darling?"

"Not bad. You only last saw me a couple hours ago."

"Aren't they sweet?"

"Wait, are you telling me, little lady…?"

"Yep."

"Seborga and Monaco?"

"Yep."

"You didn't see that?" Romania asked as he came up for air.

"_CANNONBALL!"_

Everyone's attention was again diverted as Sealand launched himself off the diving board. He came down with an enormous splash.

"What the hell?" Kugelmugel said in shock as he looked at his saturated canvas. "You idiot! That was art! You ruined a work of art!"

As Kugelmugel continued to rant, a young Asian girl in a red bikini with a field of blue with a white sun in it came out of the changing room. "Come on!"

"No," said another voice from inside. "I look ugly."

"You do not look ugly."

"Yes I do."

"You look better than me!"

"I do not!"

"Yes you do! Now come out here."

An older, mature Asian woman followed her out. She wore a red one-piece with a yellow star in the middle. Her notable tracts of land drew quite a few male gazes (and even a couple female ones.)

"Good _morning_, Vietnam!" Seborga said, impressed. Monaco whacked him upside the head.

"Hi, Taiwan," Monaco herself said.

"Hey, guys!" Taiwan said, jumping into the pool with aplomb. Luckily, her splash didn't travel as far as the Republic of Kugelmugel. Vietnam followed, but merely dangled her feet in the water.

"Say, you really should come in and join us," Romania said, coming up nearby. "The water's fine."

Bulgaria looked on in concern. If this went too far, he would have to warn Vietnam about some of Romania's…tastes.

"Say-a, Monaco, how about-a some music?" Seborga suggested.

"That's a really good idea. OI! Spain! Bring out the music!"

"Spain's not here yet," Netherlands grunted, walking out of the changing rooms.

"Oh, well. Netherlands, could you grab the music, please?"

"Way ahead of you," Finland said, following him out. He flipped the radio on.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

* * *

><p>Belgium had just put the finishing touches on her waffles, and decided to watch a little television while she waited for them to prepare. She grabbed the remote and turned on the set.<p>

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!

* * *

><p>Cameroon caught another of Egypt's shots at the goal with ease.<p>

"Face it, Egypt, you can't get anything past me," Cameroon grinned.

"Sure he can," said Liechtenstein from where she was watching.

"I'd like to see him try."

While Cameroon was so distracted, Egypt kicked the ball and it sailed right past, into the net.

Liechtenstein laughed, then reached for her little radio. "I wonder what else is going on in the sports world."

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

* * *

><p>Poland was largely regarded as the most camp, girly nation in the entire world. It was just his luck that today he was spending it with one of the most manly…his sister.<p>

"So, like, how are you?" Poland asked.

Hungary shrugged. "The same. How have you been?"

"Well, I totally got a new pony yesterday, and I totally think that I could, like, get my house painted pink next week."

Hungary was usually a very patient person, but just this once, she really wanted to get to the point she was concerned with. There wasn't any reason to beat around the bush.

"Have you gotten a new boyfriend yet?"

"That's totally not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be," Hungary said, taken back by her brother's reaction.

"I still haven't gotten over Liet yet."

"Oh, yeah. Russia partitioned you guys. I forgot about that. I'm sorry."

"It's totally okay. Hey, you want to listen to some totally fabulous music?"

"Sure. Who is it?"

"It's like this totally fabulous singer named Justin Bieber. He's a total hottie."

Hungary groaned inwardly as Poland turned on the radio.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

* * *

><p>Canada flew his cargo plane through the night. For once in his life, he was happy. There were no wars to get mixed up in, America wasn't dragging him into some crazy whatever he was doing, and nobody was beating him up because they thought he was his twin. There was nothing but him, his wings, the stars, Kumajirou…and those weird shadows on the moon.<p>

"Those are some pretty strange shadows, eh?"

"Who are you?" Kumajirou asked.

"I'm Canada."

A little kid in a bulky orange parka came up front and sat down behind Kumajirou.

"Hey, there, Westarctica," Canada grinned.

"Hi, Canada," Westarctica replied, his voice slightly muffled by the parka.

"How've you been?"

"Good."

"Hey, Kumakoro, why don't you go play with Westarctica's penguin while I hang with my little brother, eh?" Canada suggested.

"Who?"

"I'm _Canada_."

Kumajirou went back. No sooner had Westarctica come up and sat down next to Canada than the radio started crackling. Canada grabbed the control to tune in.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

* * *

><p>France was sitting outside with smooth jazz playing on the radio. He watched the strange shadows dance around the moon.<p>

"What a strange phenomenon, don't you think?" he asked.

Denmark, somewhat inebriated, shrugged. "Th' pink elephants are a strange phenomenon," he said, putting his hands to his head.

France smirked slightly. Denmark had just competed against Turkey at Turkey's house in the European Drinking Championship Quarterfinals. Now Denmark was sitting here with him with a hangover, while Turkey was off having his stomach pumped.

France looked over at him. Denmark was slouching in his chair with his shirt partially unbuttoned, revealing a very muscular chest.

"Denmark, you wouldn't think, by any chance…"

"Wha?" Denmark hiccuped.

"Here, you shouldn't be outside. You need to sleep it off. Why don't you come up to my room?"

Denmark looked at France blearily. "Kay."

France pulled Denmark up to his feet and supported him as he staggered toward the hotel door. France opened it, only to find himself face-to-face with Norway.

"All right, that's far enough."

"What do you mean? Zees man is sick. He needs sleep."

"Well, the last thing he needs is sleep in your bed, France. What he really needs is medical attention. Come on, you," he grunted, taking Denmark by the hand. France followed helplessly as Norway led Denmark back outside. The soft jazz on the radio suddenly halted.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

* * *

><p>"C'mon, Luxem, we can't play unless we have regulation teams," Prussia insisted. "If we don't, West is gonna have a fit."<p>

"I vill not!" It was true. Germany had originally been willing to play against Italy if they could have been alone, but with Prussia there…well, at least he was going to insist that the teams be even.

"I have work to do!" Luxembourg insisted.

"You can take a little break," Prussia said.

"My boss wouldn't let me off unless it was the end of the world," Luxembourg said sadly.

Suddenly the classical music on the radio was drowned out by a new signal.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

A change came over Prussia. Luxembourg looked at him intently. He had never seen the albino like this before. Prussia's eyes were wide, and he was frozen like a deer in the headlights.

"Prussia?" Italy asked in concern.

"_Bruder_?" Germany asked, baffled at the change that had come over his brother.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Luxembourg asked, waving a hand past Prussia's face.

Prussia gulped. "You know what you said about the end of the world, Luxem?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"That might just be what it is."

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

"Those are Daleks."

Everyone in the room had heard of the Daleks before. Germany froze, inheriting Prussia's deer-in-the-headlights look. Luxembourg's eyes widened. Italy gasped.

Germany was the first to come to. "_Bruder_, get all the veapons you can find. Luxembourg, notify the armies. Ve are going to stick it out here and make a stand."

"Wait a minute, Germany!"

Germany facepalmed. "Italy, vhat is it?"

"What about Romano? He's out there, all alone with no way to defend against the Daleks."

"Romano will be fine," Luxembourg said, trying to reassure Italy. "He's a nation like the rest of us, and he can defend himself."

Germany's eyes widened as he realized the implications of this. "Fine. Come on, Italy, let's go get your Bruder."

"_WHAT?"_ Luxembourg yelled in disbelief as Italy and Germany headed for the door. "Didn't you hear what I said? Let Romano defend himself."

"He'll need as much help as he can get," Germany shot back. "He _is_ Italian, after all."

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"


	6. Chapter 4: Scramble All Forces

The Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus waited outside the hospital room where Turkey was having his stomach pumped. Northern Cyprus had been so worried about his brother that he had attempted to completely shut out the grating voices screaming through the waiting room's television. They were sort of irritating.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER—"

BAM! TRNC sat bolt upright as the door flew open and France charged in. He was followed by Norway, who was supporting a drunken Denmark.

"_Excuser moi_, but where is Turkey?"

"He's in the room," Northern Cyprus said warily. "Why?"

"Because we need him," Norway said.

"We have a crisis situation, and Turkey may be our best 'ope," France explained.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Ze planet eez being invaded by ze Daleks."

* * *

><p>Romano skulked along the road. Spain couldn't have gotten too far, at least on foot. He supposed he had to apologize to that guy, much as he hated to do it. He picked up the pace a little; he would never catch up to Spain at this rate.<p>

"Hey-a, Romano!"

_Dammit._

"Ciao, Big Brother!" Italy said, running up and then stopping to catch his breath. Germany jogged up behind. He was in much better shape than Italy.

"What do you want, Veneziano? I don't-a want to play football today," Romano grumbled. "Especially not with that damned potato bastard."

"It's-a not about the football," Italy said. "We came-a to make sure you were all right."

"Of course-a I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"Ve came to varn you," Germany chipped in, "zat ze Daleks are invading."

Romano's face was normally a very healthy-looking tan, but Italy and Germany could literally see the color draining from his face.

"What are we going to do?" he asked.

"Prussia and Luxembourg are-a setting up the defenses at Luxembourg's house. Come on!" said Italy, turning. Germany went to follow.

"Wait!" Romano burst out.

Germany and Italy turned back. "Vhat?" Germany asked.

Romano's mouth worked noiselessly for a few seconds while his mind raced. _Oh, well, what the heck. I might as well say it._

"What about Spain?" Romano asked.

"Spain?" Italy and Germany chorused, exchanging a look.

"Yeah. I-a was talking to him earlier, and then he went home. He seemed kind of upset." Romano mentally punched himself. Why had he let that last bit slip?

"Vell, then," Germany sighed. "I guess ve have to go find Spain now."

* * *

><p>Finland dashed across the changing room dressed in a towel. Everyone had gotten out of the pool when the distress call had been broadcast, and now the changing room was in chaos as the various nations tried to get dressed as quickly as possible.<p>

Suddenly, he slipped in a puddle of water. Before he knew it, his head was on a very fast collision course with solid concrete. Finland braced himself…

…and found himself in the grip of a strong pair of arms. Finland opened his eyes to see that Sweden had caught him.

"Thanks, Sve," Finland said gratefully.

"Hm."

They stood there for a moment.

"Uh, Sve?"

"Mm?"

"You can let go now."

"…m'kay."

Finland felt the pressure leave his midsection. He headed to where his clothes were, more carefully this time. He was slightly puzzled. If he didn't know better, he would've sworn that he had heard a twinge of disappointment in Sweden's tone. It was only when he was putting on his own that he realized something else. Sweden hadn't been wearing pants.

* * *

><p>England paced around the control center. With every change in direction, he passed Switzerland pacing in the other direction. America watched them with not a little amusement.<p>

"They'll be here before we know it," England muttered loudly, not entirely conscious that everyone could hear him.

"We'll need to muster as much firepower as we can," Switzerland added.

"They're immune to bullets," England reminded him.

"Oh, yeah. Damn."

"Geez, you guys. I think you're overlooking a very important fact here," America interjected.

England and Switzerland paused to look at him. Thailand turned too, curious like the others.

"What would that fact be?" England asked.

"You've got a hero right here!" America grinned.

England and Switzerland exchanged a look. A similar look passed between Iceland and Thailand.

"We're doomed, aren't we?" asked Iceland.

"Indubitably, _ana~_," Thailand smiled absently.

Austria had been largely ignoring the conversation (large headphones do that to you) but now he piped up. "Sir, the radar shows that there is a large craft heading straight for us."

Switzerland scowled. England's face was pale, but his expression was one of determination.

"Here they come."


	7. Meet Mexico

Wow. I honestly thought I'd have the chapter ready, seeing as it's a three-day weekend in the U.S. (President's Day, to be exact.) But somehow, it's only half done. Still, I realized that this had to be done first. It's time to introduce another OC for the next chapter. This is the one you've all been waiting for. You know who it is. It's Mexi_-*BLAM!*_

* * *

><p>Mexico<p>

**Name: **Jose Perez

**Age: **19

**Gender:** Male

**Country (The place your character is): **The United Mexican States

**Height: **5'5"

**Weight: **146 lb.

**Personality:** Independent, capable of holding a grudge

**Likes: **Enchiladas, Canada, sombreros

**Dislikes:** America for bullying him as a kid (he tolerates him, for now), drug dealers

**Pet: **Un gato (a cat) named Vasco

**How they are with other people (Like with their older sister/brother):  
><strong>America—Mexico is generally quiet around America. He's never cared for the guy, especially since Texas, but knows that for now he is not strong enough to get his revenge. He does ask him for help with his drug problem at times.  
>Canada—Mexico has a lot in common with Canada, namely a mutual annoyance at America.<p>

**Other: **Mexico holds one of the biggest grudges in the world against America about the whole Texas business, but he's probably the best at hiding that grudge. He's actually one of the stronger nations in the world, but his drug wars and location next to America almost always overshadow this.

**Looks Like:** Typically wearing his green military fatigues, Mexico has a dark, Hispanic look about him. He's short, and very strong for his size. He's also been known to don a sombrero at times, but not nearly as often as most people (read: America) expect him to.


	8. Chapter 5: Mobilization and False Alarms

Author's Note: Oh, my god, I am so sorry it's taken so long. I hope it won't happen again. Somehow I've gotten this written at a point where I'll hopefully be able to get decent sleep tonight. It's a miracle. Updates may be rather intermittent, between homework and the spring play, but I will do whatever I can to remain on schedule from here on out.

* * *

><p>"I berieve I have found it," Japan reported.<p>

"What is it, aru?" China asked. He leaned in closer to get a better look at the screen.

"I believe what we are dealing with are Daleks," Japan declared.

Hong Kong gasped. The others gave him an odd look.

"You know of them, Hong Kong-san?"

"Know of them?" Hong Kong said incredulously. "Back when I lived with England, they would, like, try to attack all the time. Extermination is, like, really not a good thing, you know?"

"Extermination?" Macau echoed, baffled.

"It's what they call what they do. They want to exterminate everything that isn't Dalek."

"Ouch, aru," China winced.

"We've got to do something," Korea yipped.

"Hong Kong-san, do you know what we can do to fight these Daleks?" Japan asked.

Hong Kong's eyebrows and lips moved imperceptibly—the closest he ever really came to a smile. "I might be able to think of something."

* * *

><p>Turkey lay unconscious on the hospital bed. He still looked pale after having his stomach pumped of all that alcohol.<p>

"I'm not sure what use he'd be," TRNC confessed.

France frowned. "Zat's too bad."

"You think?" growled Norway. "The Daleks are invading and that's all you can say?"

"I was 'oping for as much in ze way of troop strength as we could get," France shot back.

"Pink Daleks are after me," Denmark hiccuped.

TRNC looked over at him. "He doesn't look too good, either."

France shrugged. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

* * *

><p>Hungary charged into the kitchen, followed by Poland.<p>

"Like, wait up! What's the rush?" Poland asked.

"The Daleks are the rush," Hungary shot back. She was looking through the drawers and cupboards with a frantic fervor. "Where do you keep the frying pans?" she asked.

"In there," Poland said, pointing. Hungary grabbed the largest one she could find and held it up. A look came over her face, a smile that chilled Poland to the bone, since it reminded him ever so slightly of Russia—or worse, Belarus.

"Let's go stop them, then," she said.

* * *

><p>"It's a kilometer out, now," Austria reported.<p>

"Arm all weapons," Switzerland ordered.

"Scramble all fighters," England said, his voice overlapping with Switzerland's.

"I'm on it," America said, dashing out of the room.

"Half a kilometer…"

"Don't fire until you see the blues of their eyestalks," England ordered.

"Quarter of a kilometer…"

Suddenly a voice came through the intercom. "Permission to land, Brigadier England?" it said in a very familiar voice.

"Permission to _land_, America?" England repeated, sure he'd misheard. "Don't you mean permission to _take off_?"

"I'm _Canada_."

As if on cue, a large cargo airplane burst through the clouds ahead of them. England threw back his head and laughed. "Permission granted, Canada. Good to see you," he crowed in relief. "Cycle down weapons, Mr. Iceland. America, are you getting this?"

"Every word," said a voice that was truly indistinguishable from Canada's.

England dashed out of the room and down to the runway to greet the plane once it finished taxiing. He met its occupants at the base of the loading ramp. Leading the group was a nation that really looked just like America, except for the one incredible curl that France never shut up about, and the polar bear in his arms. Following him was a young boy in a bulky orange parka, and a tall, dark Hispanic man in a green military uniform.

England raised an enormous eyebrow. "General Mexico. We weren't expecting you to come in on Canada's supply run."

Mexico shrugged. "I thought I would surprise you. I guess I was right."

America dashed over. "Canada!"

"America!" Canada barely had a chance to react as his twin brother glomped him.

After a minute, America released Canada. Then he spotted Mexico.

"America," Mexico nodded curtly.

"Mexico," America replied quietly, his voice almost a snarl.

England's communicator beeping fortunately broke the tension between the two. England answered it.

"England here."

"England, could I get you up here to take a look at something, _ana~_?" Thailand's voice asked.

"Certainly, Thailand," England said. He closed the communicator and looked at the assembly. "Come on, then."


	9. Meet Czechoslovakia

A very strange thing has happened. The chapter is ready, but I'm not going to post it! For bragging rights (to say I'm ahead!) and because these two are in the next chapter, I'm introducing a couple of OC's in an effort to balance out all the yaoi that is so prevalent in _Hetalia_. Enjoy!

Czech

**Name: **Tereza Horáčková

**Age: **29

**Gender:** Female

**Country (The place your character is): **Czech Republic

**Height: **5'7"

**Weight: **132 pounds

**Personality:** Laid-back nature-lover

**Likes:** Nature, hanging out, Slovakia

**Dislikes:** Russia

**Pet: **A cat named Jakub

**How they are with other people (Like with their older sister/brother):  
><strong>Slovakia—Czech can get a bit lovey-dovey and slightly clingy around Slovakia, but then again Slovakia is her wife. Mostly, though, Czech is just laid-back with Slovakia, just a little more so than she is with everyone else.  
>Austria—Consider Austria's neighbors. North Italy is a total ditz, Germany is his comrade in emotional cluelessness, Hungary's still in love with him, Prussia hates his guts, Switzerland is a total tsundere towards him, and Liechtenstein is trying to set him up with the latter. With all this, his relationship with Czech is almost the most normal one he has.<br>Germany—Czech is still scarred by what Germany did to her during the war. On a psychological note, this might be why she only goes for girls like Slovakia.  
>Prussia—Czech is vying to get even for Silesia, and now that Prussia's not even a full national entity, she sees her chance.<br>Poland—For Czech, hanging out with Poland is like having a sisterly heart to heart. It literally would be, except for that one…um…thing.

**Other: **Czech's nature-loving personality

**Looks Like:** blond and blue, one little Idiot Hair curl sticking straight up, wears old-fashioned suits similar to her friend Austria's, when she's not in one of those traditional _Tracht _dresses that Liechtenstein and Slovakia wear.

Slovakia

**Name: **Miroslava Čierná

**Age: **22

**Gender:** Female

**Country (The place your character is):** Slovak Republic

**Height:** 5'8"

**Weight:** 136 lb.

**Personality:** Quiet, wishes she were noticed more, wants to stand out

**Likes:** Czech (although she can get on her nerves)

**Dislikes: **Being ignored

**Pet:** A large goat, affectionately known as "The B****y goat's gotten into the kitchen again!"

**How they are with other people (Like with their older sister/brother):  
><strong>Czech—Slovakia loves Czech, but Czech can get on her nerves sometimes. When Slovakia's going independent, she tries not to think about it.  
>Poland—Slovakia enjoys hanging out with her brother<br>Hungary—Slovakia's best friend, besides Czech, Slovakia was Hungary's personal attendant for centuries.  
>Austria—Slovakia is very shy around Austria, since she secretly harbors a massive crush on him. He rarely notices her, however.<br>Ukraine—Big Sister Ukraine is frequently trying to set her up with someone, which Slovakia hates, but other than that they get along fine.

**Other: **Slovakia hates being ignored more than anything. If you overlook her too much she will go berserk. It doesn't help that in the grand scheme of things, to anyone but her neighbors, she tends to be the European answer to Canada.

**Looks Like: **Slovakia has long, dirty-blond hair, with a red bow in it. She wears either her military uniform or one of those traditional Germanic dresses—think what Liechtenstein wears. She has big adorable violet eyes that people have a tendency to fall for.


	10. Chapter 6: Descent

Author's Note: Tada! And would you believe that it's on time with no hitches either? I know it's a stretch. I wouldn't have believed it myself, except I was there.

* * *

><p>"What is it, Thailand?" England asked.<p>

"The Dalek fleet seems to be moving in on the other side of the planet, _ana~_," Thailand reported.

Iceland looked over at the screen. "Oh,_ skit!_ That's Europe!"

Austria mumbled something under his breath. With anyone else, England was sure it had to be a swear word, but Austria was far too dignified for that.

"My sister's in Europe," Switzerland realized, the color draining from his face.

"So are my brothers," England replied. "We need to get to Europe, now!" England dialed the radio and tuned it to the right frequency. "Hello, Japan? This is the _Valiant_. We need immediate emergency clearance to leave the airspace. Inform all incoming and outgoing air traffic so they don't hit us."

"Wait, we haven't yet decided what to do," Japan said, but it was too late. Iceland, manning the helm, had already set a course for Europe as fast as the _Valiant_ would go.

"Let's just hope we make it in time," Mexico said darkly.

* * *

><p>Slovakia snuggled a little closer to Czech. Czech opened a sleepy eye and smiled warmly at her.<p>

"Hey," Czech said.

"Hey," Slovakia replied, smiling slightly.

"That was some night."

"Yeah."

"We should do that again sometime."

"Yeah. How about…tonight?" Slovakia suggested.

"Sounds like fun," Czech said, laughing gently.

A shadow passed over the curtains, silhouetted against the background sunlight. It was the first time Czech and Slovakia had actually noticed the sun was up. The silhouette had a rather stocky silhouette, cylindrical, with a longer appendage sticking out the top.

BAM! The door crashed inward, revealing, to Czech and Slovakia's shock, Poland, who had wrested the frying pan from a slightly crazed Hungary (she had been getting a bit wild with the swinging it about) and was holding it from the pan end with the handle sticking into the air. His girly cloak had given the illusion of a cylinder, and his sister had tackled him in her attempt to get it back.

"Like, calm down, Hungary!" he yelled, rolling out of the way as she launched herself at him.

Hungary jumped again, catching Poland on the third jump, and started wrestling with Poland for the frying pan. Czech and Slovakia watched in shock.

"Hey, a little help here!" Poland yelled.

Slovakia leapt out of bed and grabbed Hungary by the shoulders. Czech said a quick prayer to thank God that she had been wearing a nightshirt and panties, at least.

"Hungary! Hungary, it's me! It's Slovakia! Get off him!"

Gradually Hungary's blood rage subsided and she let go. Poland gasped for air.

"Now what's the problem?" Slovakia asked. "Why were you attacking Poland?"

"Was it something he said?" Czech asked from where she had surreptitiously slipped out of the bed and was putting on some clothes, using the bed as cover so no one could see her.

"She was like totally overreacting too soon," Poland said. "Hungary, they haven't even landed yet. How do you, like, own them with a frying pan when they haven't even landed yet?"

"I guess you have a point," Hungary conceded.

"Who haven't landed yet?" asked Czech. "Why does Hungary have to beat them with a frying pan once they've landed? And how do you 'overreact too soon'?"

"What the hell is going on?" Slovakia yelled.

A shadow crossed Hungary's face…literally. She looked toward the window to see something—or rather several somethings—partially blocking out the sun's rays.

"It's begun. The Daleks are invading."

* * *

><p>Russia hurried outside with the other Soviet nations in tow. He, Ukraine, Belarus, and the Baltic States looked up at the sky.<p>

"Well, that's not good," Russia said, surprisingly calm under the circumstances.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, what are we going to do?" Ukraine shrieked hysterically.

"Calm down, Double D means Double Dumb," Belarus grumbled. "Big Brother is calm, so we should be calm too," she reasoned. "After all, who wouldn't want to be more like Big Brother?" The Baltics bit their lips to keep themselves from responding.

"I feel faint," said Latvia, his face growing pale. He swayed a bit, his eyes rolled back, and he began to fall backward.

"LATVIAAAAAA!" Estonia screamed. Latvia fell into Russia's waiting arms, and the much larger nation picked him up.

"Russia, the Daleks are serious business. We can't just sit around while they take over," Lithuania said, trying to reason with him.

Russia turned and smiled, and Ukraine, Estonia and Lithuania suppressed a mutual shudder. "Well then, Liet, we need a battle plan, don't we?"

* * *

><p>The sky darkened as Dalek saucers, already eclipsing large portions of the sun, began disgorging dozens—no, hundreds—no, <em>thousands<em>—of xenophobic, murderous pepper-pot cyborgs into the skies. Down below, Earth was in chaos. Order had become a concept of the most unlikely of theories. People were running back and forth across streets, desperately searching for a place to hide. What most of them failed to realize is that there really is nowhere to hide from the Daleks.

In the European capital, as people ran back and forth, desperately searching for cover that ultimately was incapable of saving them, one woman walked straight. She had short, strawberry-blond hair with a ribbon in it, green eyes, and a mouth that under less dire circumstances would have been turned up in a catlike smile. In her arms, she carried an enormous gun, big enough to turn any gun nut with massive compensation issues green with envy. She walked down the street through the chaos, never stopping, never flinching. She looked around at the chaos around her, as her city was already being torn apart by people trying to hide before the invasion, and the mass exterminations that would accompany it, even began.

Off to the side, something caught her eye. The front window was smashed in an electronics store. Inside, two men were hastily stuffing everything they could get their hands on in a canvas bag. They had seen opportunity, and their greed had overcome their far more sensible original reaction, which of course was fear. Belgium turned and walked into the store through the open door—she briefly wondered why they had bothered to smash the front window in the first place—and headed over to the two men. They were so involved in their task that they didn't even notice her until she crouched down next to them. Then they looked up.

Belgium raised an eyebrow at them, before speaking in a perfectly innocent-sounding voice.

"Do you like my gun?"


	11. Chapter 7: Planetfall

"Brigadier, we're getting a faint transmission from the continent," Iceland reported.

"Punch it through," England ordered.

A weak, staticky transmission couldn't hide or dull the unmistakable air of awesomely superior awesomeness that the caller projected.

"Hello, UNIT? This is Awesome Prussia calling!" he announced.

Austria facepalmed. "Good grief! Vhy did it have to be _him_?" he lamented aloud.

Switzerland muscled his way to the microphone. "Prussia, where's my sister?" he asked urgently.

"How ze heck should I know vhere your sister is? I haven't seen her since that one time Austria took the two of you out to lunch. Vould you believe he didn't even bring a doggie-bag home? Ze nerve of some people!"

"You're one to talk," Austria grumbled under his breath this time.

"Prussia, why did you call?" Mexico asked patiently.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. I called to tell you zat ze Daleks are invading the continent. Luxembourg and I are holed up at his house, but I'm not sure how well the barricades vill hold up against Daleks. Even though I'm awesome, ve vouldn't refuse some reinforcements right about now."

"We're on our way," England promised.

"Wait, dude, did you say that the Daleks are invading right now?" America asked.

"_Valiant_, this is Luxembourg. There are Daleks in the sky and they've almost made it to the ground. We'd really appreciate it if, oh, I don't know, you could maybe _help us__?_"

"We're on our way," England repeated, although this time his voice sounded far more hollow. Canada looked around at everyone's faces, as the same general "Oh, crap" expression crossed everyone's features. Canada's heart sank.

"We're never gonna make it in time," he whispered.

* * *

><p>Germany and the Italy twins hiked up the Mediterranean coast, still searching for any sign of Spain. Veneziano knew these sights, although they were almost out of his territory now.<p>

A shadow crossed overhead. The three nations looked up to see a Dalek battle group fly past. They dove for the scrub at the edge of the beach where the water wasn't.

After a minute, they peered out. "That was a close one," Italy commented.

* * *

><p>Cuba and Seychelles waited for their flight to finish boarding and refueling. Soon they would be headed to Cuba's house, where Cuba's boss Castro was bolstering the defenses on a level not needed or seen since the 2010 Christmas Bloodbath.<p>

Suddenly, they heard screams from outside the plane. They stood bolt upright—and Cuba smacked his head on the overhead luggage rack. Rubbing his head, he stepped out into the aisle after Seychelles. A laser blast caught one of the flight attendants in the chest, throwing her back over the snack tray. A pair of Daleks hummed into the plane, swiveling their eyestalks and gunsticks in the general direction of the passengers.

"DO NOT RE-SIST! YOU ARE NOW PRIS-ON-ERS OF THE DA-LEKS! RE-SIST-ANCE WILL BE MET WITH EX-TER-MIN-A-TION!"


	12. Chapter 8: First Level Defense

Author's Note: Sorry I'm a day late. I don't know what happened…no wait, yes I do. Easter happened. We get Monday off, and that's thrown my schedule way out of whack. The fact that the play I'm in is this week can't help anything. But the update is here. Now, I know Himaruya promised to introduce the Czech Republic in the 2011 Christmas Bloodbath, but I included her here as an OC because she has almost no character background. I'm not even sure if she's actually appeared yet. When was the last time Himaruya updated the 2011 Bloodbath anyway? Actually, that's a really good question. When was the last time Himaruya updated the 2011 Bloodbath? I should go check that. Meanwhile, on an unrelated note, has anyone seen the so-called Doctor Who "Ultimate Trailers" by LastWhovian up on YouTube? You should. They're condensed moments of pure, concentrated awesomeness. I especially recommend "The First Question" to all my readers, as well as anyone else on Earth—hell, the Sol System—hell, Mutter's Spiral in general. Also, two words: Chameleon Circuit. Four more: Crowning Music of Awesome. That is all.

* * *

><p>"Now, I'm sure you girls can hold off whatever strays as far as this," Russia said from the passenger seat of the beat-up old jeep.<p>

"Big Brother, I do not understand. Why can't I come with you? We should be fighting side-by-side; it is only right," Belarus insisted. "You should have me there to defend you."

Russia smiled. "But Belarus, by defending the Motherland, you will be defending me too, _da_?" he pointed out.

Ukraine bounced nervously on her toes, sending her breasts jiggling. Latvia's eyes couldn't help but follow. Estonia, noticing this, put his hand over Latvia's eyes. Ukraine's concern was evident in her voice. "Are you sure you have everything, Russia?" she asked for the eighteenth time that hour.

"_Da,_ Ukraine," Russia smiled.

"Food?" asked Ukraine.

"_Da_," Estonia said, looking into the back.

"My locket?" Belarus asked.

Russia tried not to wince, but he pulled the aforementioned piece of jewelry out of his pocket. "_Da._"

"Sleeping bags?" asked Ukraine.

"_Da,_" said Latvia, peering into the back around Estonia.

"Competent fighters?" Belarus challenged.

Russia (a former global superpower with super-strength) and Lithuania (famous for that time that he rescued Poland from Prussia at Grunwald, coming out of nowhere and disarming Prussia and getting a knife to his neck in one smooth stroke) exchanged a glance. "_Da,_" they said in unison.

"Weaponry?" asked Ukraine.

Russia proudly held his faucet up. "_Da,_" he declared triumphantly.

"Russia! You can't fight Daleks with a simple water faucet!" Ukraine objected.

Russia was taken aback. "Why not?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"You're going to fight a race of super-advanced cyborgs with armor and shielding that's impervious to bullets, not some half-assed wimp nation like Italy or Argentina," Lithuania explained. "You can't just fight them with a water faucet!"

"Well, then, what are we supposed to fight them with?" Russia asked.

"I think I might have something," Estonia said. "Follow me."

* * *

><p>Seychelles looked to Cuba. Surely he would be able to do something…. No such luck. Cuba was still dazed from his little run-in with the carry-on compartment.<p>

Seychelles thought fast.

"SURRENDER OR BE EX-TER-MIN-AT-ED!"

Seychelles grabbed the flight attendants' snack tray and charged the lead Dalek. The Dalek caught its gunstick on the tray, firing ineffectively into several slices of carrot cake and the metal side of the tray.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

"Come on!" Seychelles said, grabbing Cuba's arm and leading him to the back emergency exit. She kicked open the door and released the switch for the inflatable emergency chute. She pushed Cuba out, then grabbed two beers from the fridge at the back and followed.

* * *

><p>"YOU SHALL EXIT THE RES-I-DENC-ES IN AN ORDERLY FASHION," a Dalek screamed at a row of houses. "THOSE WHO SURRENDER WILL NOT BE HARMED. ANY WHO RESIST WILL BE EX-TER-MIN-AT-ED!"<p>

Luxembourg looked out the upstairs window. Daleks were marching ordinary citizens—his citizens—out into the streets. He dashed downstairs.

"They're almost here," he reported.

Prussia had barricaded the door with various implements of furniture. Now he sat in a green fake-leather armchair that had been left upright at the edge of the pile.

"What should we do?" Luxembourg asked.

Prussia looked up, the glint of fear that his red eyes had betrayed since the Daleks had announced their presence suddenly vanishing as he looked upon Luxembourg, as if for the first time. He grinned his smug, crooked grin.

"Ve do vhat ve alvays do. Ve go and do something awesome."


	13. Chapter 9: Battle Prans

Author's Note: The good news is that the play I was in this weekend was a complete success. The bad news is that I'm still up until an ungodly late hour writing this. Oh, well, what the hell. Here it is! Chapter 9!

* * *

><p>"We're coming up on the Continent now, <em>ana~<em>," Thailand reported.

"Sensors are detecting Dalek saucers and large quantities of Daleks," Austria added.

"Of course their communications would be encrypted," Iceland griped.

England walked over to Iceland and hit a switch on Iceland's panel. "India, get your fighters ready to launch," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," India's voice replied.

"Dude, England, I should be out there too!" America said.

"Well, get moving, then," England smiled at him. "But be careful!" he added as America dashed off.

"I'll go too," said Canada. "I've got some weaponry on my cargo plane," he said. Of course, no one responded.

Canada went up to Mexico and tapped him on the shoulder. "General, may I go fight the Daleks, too?" he asked shyly.

Mexico raised an eyebrow in surprise. "America, England just said you could," he said. "Go right ahead."

Canada decided not to linger to clear up the mix-up and followed his brother out of the command center.

* * *

><p>A helicopter landed at UNIT Headquarters in Geneva, and Netherlands climbed out. He dashed toward the building as he tried to get his beret to stay on over his spiky blond hair. Making his way up to the Central Command room, he heard another pair of feet behind him and turned around. A young female nation who looked an awful lot like Switzerland besides the hair ribbon was following him up the stairs. Netherlands took a moment to recognize who it was before starting again.<p>

The door flew open and Netherlands stepped over the threshold only to dive for cover as a gunshot took a chunk out of the doorframe right next to his head. A head, wearing a red beret and sporting unusually lopsided hair, peered over a desktop.

"What the hell, Cyprus?" Netherlands growled.

Cyprus blushed. "Sorry, Netherlands," he apologized. "I couldn't take any chances that you might have been a Dalek."

Netherlands wasn't one to beat about the bush. Ignoring Cyprus's apology, he asked, "Why wasn't the Barrier of Permanent Neutrality up?"

"I don't have the clearance codes to raise the Barrier of Permanent Neutrality," Cyprus replied. "You wouldn't have them, by any chance?" he asked hopefully.

"No."

"Well, who has the clearance codes?"

While Netherlands and Cyprus attempted to figure out how to raise the Barrier, Liechtenstein walked over to a control panel. After rubbing her temples to try to remember that code that her big brother had made her memorize, she punched a series of numbers and letters into the built-in keyboard.

Netherlands and Cyprus were distracted by a persistent beeping noise. While Cyprus attempted to figure out what was wrong on the computer, Netherlands ran to the window to see a giant, translucent pink wall growing around them.

"The Barrier of Permanent Neutrality is up!" Cyprus said in surprise.

"But how?" Netherlands asked.

Liechtenstein cleared her throat. Cyprus and Netherlands turned to her. "You know, you could've just asked someone who lives here," she said smugly.

* * *

><p>Japan walked into the room that the other East Asian nations had congregated in. "How did you get here so quickly, aru?" China asked in surprise.<p>

"I was able to tereport here using technorogy," Japan explained.

"How?" Macau asked.

"I have been deveroping an expelimental tlansporter in my spare time for UNIT. It has rimited range and can only been used once in a peliod of sevelal hours, but it shows plomise."

"Teleportation was invented in Korea."

"No, it wasn't."

"So, what are we going to do, aru?" asked China.

"We're going to figure out how to fight the Daleks," Hong Kong said.

"Yes, but how?" Macau asked.

"We could teleport there," Korea suggested.

"No, we can't," said Macau. "Don't you remember what Japan said? His transporter has already been used in the past hour, and it wouldn't get us to Europe in time anyway."

"Well, what are we going to do?" Korea asked.

"I have a pran."


	14. Meet Scotland

Author's Note: Sorry about the lack of a chapter update this week; on Saturday, I had Prom, and on Sunday I was recovering. Between Prom and everything associated with it, I didn't really have a chance to type up a new chapter. Sorry. It doesn't help that Captain Sasquatch hid my laptop in a successful effort to make sure I got some sleep. On an unrelated note, at our Post-Prom Party I won the last iTunes gift card as a prize. When I got home, I immediately used it to buy a fan_tas_tic trock album, _Chameleon Circuit_. And to make up for the lack of the chapter, I'm going to do what I always do in situations like these. I'd like you all to give a big round of applause for the one, the only…Scotland!

Scotland

**Name: **Archie McDougal

**Age: **31

**Gender:** Male

**Country (The place your character is): **Scotland (in the UK)

**Height: **6'2"

**Weight: **173 lb.

**Personality: **Scotland is a rough, undiluted and unrefined Scotsman, with a brogue that can cut steel…I've forgotten where I was going with this. Generally a cheery sort, he has a tendency to hit the drink and has the potential to go Violent Glaswegian on your fanny when angry.

**Likes: **Scottish whisky, engines, mechanics, haggis, bagpipes

**Dislikes:** England, technopaths, Daleks (but that's a given), improper use of the word fanny (dinna they noo what it means?)

**Pet: **Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster

**How they are with other people (Like with their older sister/brother):  
><strong>England—Scotland and his little brother have never gotten along all that well, and while they share the same dedication to their Queen, they fight with each other almost as much as England fights with France.  
>Ireland—Scotland and Ireland have always gotten along well, and bond often over a spot of whisky, although they sometimes fight over whose whisky is better.<br>Wales—Scotland and Wales get along wonderfully.  
>Northern Ireland—has always had a soft spot for little Ulster<p>

**Other: **He plays the bagpipes, is a fan_tas_tic mechanic, and is an even worse chef than England (Beyond the Impossible, yes, but Finland pulls it off too. Also, one word: Haggis.)

**Looks Like:** Scotland sports short brown hair which looks like a buzz-cut that hasn't been maintained for a few months. He wears a kilt and either a black woolen sweater with an open front and a white t-shirt underneath or a leather jacket and t-shirt, same color scheme. The kilt is plaid, of course. He's got the big eyebrows that all British territories have, and honking great ears to boot.


	15. Chapter 10: Nitro9: A Hope Spot

Author's Note: I didn't think I'd get this in on time. I'm genuinely astonished, and exhausted. I hosted a _Doctor Who_ marathon at my house on Saturday, meaning I had to do all my homework on Sunday. That leaves very little time for fanfic writing. Still, school ends in a few weeks, which should lead to normalization in update schedule. Also, Scotland's appearance has been postponed until next week; give me a break, I was up until 1am finishing this.

* * *

><p>Several fighter planes and an armed cargo carrier took off from the <em>Valiant<em>. A Dalek saucer had finally taken notice of them and had moved to intercept.

"Dude, this is gonna be so awesome!" America said gleefully, literally laughing in the face of danger.

"Careful, America," England warned. "Daleks are bulletproof, you realize."

America shrugged. "The machine gun isn't the only thing I'm packing on this thing."

"You're far too reckless," England declared.

"You're just an old…what's that word you use?"

"Fusspot?" India volunteered. For a moment, England dearly wished India was next to him, so he could flick him in the head.

"Heh, fusspot. Sounds weird," America smirked.

England sighed. "Just be careful, America."

"No worries."

* * *

><p>"YOU SHALL EXIT THE RES-I-DENC-ES IN AN ORDERLY FASHION. THOSE WHO SURRENDER WILL NOT BE HARMED. ANY WHO RESIST WILL BE EX-TER-MIN-AT-ED!"<p>

"Ready?" Prussia asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," replied Luxembourg.

"Three, two, one, FIRE!"

Luxembourg released his hold on the makeshift catapult, launching the volatile shaving cream cans at the Daleks standing outside.

"WHAT IS THE MEAN-ING OF—"

BOOM!

"DALEKS HAVE BEEN DES-TROYED! YOU WILL BE EX-TER-MIN-AT-ED!"

"Good to know," Luxembourg muttered sarcastically.

"Do you have the next payload ready?" asked Prussia.

"Right here," Luxembourg said.

"Right. Fire two!"

The next explosion was followed by an immediate cessation in the bombardment. Prussia and Luxembourg exchanged a look.

"Do you think we got them?" Luxembourg asked.

"Only one way to find out," Prussia replied. He crept up to the window, chancing a peek out. He was greeted by the sight of the remains of four Daleks still smoldering outside.

"Ve got them," he grinned.

* * *

><p>Wales looked over the CCTV footage. Daleks were overrunning the entire city, marching prisoners outside where they could be whisked away, exterminating anyone and everyone to resist. Australia and the others looked on in horror.<p>

Suddenly the image was replaced by a haze of static. Wales was suddenly a whirlwind of activity, checking the smaller screens and readouts. He slumped back in his chair, defeated.

"They've hit the connections. We're completely cut off," he groaned, sliding to the floor.

Australia went over to him and crouched down. "Hey, I'm sure we can pull through this somehow," he said, trying to be reassuring.

Wales looked up at Australia, his expression hollow. "I'm not so sure. You've never faced the Daleks before. You don't know what they're capable of."

"Wales, don't be such a sourguts," New Zealand scolded.

"Yeah, really," Wy agreed.

"Defeatism never got anyone anywhere," Hutt River declared.

Wales looked at each of them in turn. "I'm sorry, but I think defeatism might be the only justifiable emotion at this point."

New Zealand bent down, took Wales by the shoulders, and looked into his eyes. His/her/its mouth turned up in a crooked, playful grin. "Who said emotions had to be justifiable?"


	16. Chapter 11: VWAARP! VWAARP!

Author's Note: I'm genuinely astonished that I even got a chance to write this week. Between my basement flooding (twice!), my cousin's graduation party in a town that is many hours of driving away from home, watching Canadian cop shows, sleeping on the couch, church, a day at my girlfriend's (yes, she's one of the few things I think is more important than my writing), the penultimate episode of the first season of _Once Upon A Time_, and the American season premiere of _Sherlock_, I have had no time to type until late this Sunday night. As a result, this chapter probably won't be as long as they usually are, and Scotland's first appearance will be delayed for a while. Also, since I want to concentrate a little more on my actual novel series (_The Saga of Incredible Weirdness_) I'll be switching to a fortnightly update for the rest of the month at least, possibly longer, although summer vacation should free up some typing time. Still, that being said, I have in fact finished this chapter, against all odds. And I'd really appreciate it if you, dear readers, would review. At least that would let me know that you're reading. This includes the aforementioned girlfriend, who I know will be reading this at some point. My rant is done; here's the chapter.

* * *

><p>Denmark sat slumbering in an armchair next to Turkey's bed. France, Norway, and Northern Cyprus sat nearby, wondering what they were going to do.<p>

Suddenly France perked up. He could've sworn that he heard something.

"What—" Norway began.

"Shh!" France shushed him. There! The sound was faint, but unmistakable.

Before Norway or TRNC could question him, a moan from Turkey brought them to his bedside. As it turned out, he wasn't waking up; he was just shifting a little. When they turned back to their chairs, however, they couldn't help but notice that France had disappeared.

* * *

><p>Luxembourg looked at Prussia. "Would you hurry up? This might be our only opening to escape, unless you want to be holed up in here for the rest of the invasion."<p>

Prussia grinned back. "If I can spend it vith you, it's almost vorth it…but still, you're right. Ve should go. _Schnell,_" he added.

The duo checked to make sure that the coast was clear, before climbing out of the window that they had been launching their Nitro-9 out of earlier. At the distant hum of more Daleks approaching, they ran for their lives.

* * *

><p>France stepped out of the hospital door. Sure enough, it was standing on the sidewalk outside. It was completely impossible, of course, but there it was. The solution to all of their problems, standing right there. France looked in disbelief at the box sitting in front of him. It was completely out of place, but the sign on the door, specifically the English lettering, confirmed France's wildest suspicions.<p>

He read,

POLICE TELEPHONE

** FREE**

FOR USE OF

**PUBLIC**

ADVICE & ASSISTANCE  
>OBTAINABLE IMMEDIATELY<p>

OFFICER & CARS  
>RESPOND TO ALL CALLS<p>

**PULL TO OPEN**

"Eet eez all right. Everything eez going to be all right now," France smiled before deliberately disobeying the sign on the door, pushing the door open, and stepping inside…


	17. Chapter 12: Cliffhangers

Author's Note: Of course, there's an update this week, but there won't be next week, because there are so many graduation parties I have to go to that my darling girlfriend had to make a spreadsheet. So don't bother. Still, that being said, here's this week's chapter.

* * *

><p>Greece stepped off the plane, his jacket lazily draped around his shoulders. It was too much of an effort to put it on. He walked down the staircase to find himself confronted at the bottom by a redheaded woman. He wasn't so asleep that he didn't note the Big Freaking Gun she carried, and he hazily wondered how the hell she had gotten past airport security with it. It took him a moment to place the face, too.<p>

"Belgium?" he asked in surprise.

"Come on, Greece. Let's go," Belgium replied.

"Am I under arrest or something?" he asked.

"Don't be ridiculous. This is for your protection until we can get somewhere more secure. I was thinking NATO Headquarters."

"Have the Daleks arrived yet?" Greece asked, making a halfhearted effort to match Belgium's brisk pace.

"In Brussels? Not quite. They're still a ways out, and even though they're bulletproof, our heavy artillery seems to be slowing them down. They're getting closer, though. I've had reports that Luxembourg's house has been the most recent to fall."

Greece followed Belgium into the streets. It was still darkened, with structures falling in flames. There were fewer people now than before, but still a substantial number running and screaming.

"Come on. Hurry," Belgium ordered. Greece followed close behind as they reached the highest pace that wouldn't be considered an all-out run.

An explosion launched a car into the air behind them. The explosion was closely followed by another sound that on its own would probably kill a man with a weak heart.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"

Belgium frowned grimly. "They're here."

* * *

><p>America strafed the lead Dalek saucer, peppering it with machine gun fire. The rapid-fire bullets barely dented the surface.<p>

England rolled his eyes and keyed the radio again. "America, what did I tell you about Dalekanium being bulletproof?"

"Sorry, man, I forgot," America apologized with a laugh. He then threw his fighter into a spin, narrowly missing shots from three Daleks by literally inches.

"Be careful, you wanker!"

"Temper, Brigadier," India said calmly, coming in for his own run on the saucer. His was somewhat more effective, largely due to the fact that he was armed with frickin' laser beams.

"Dude, those are awesome! Where can a hero get his hands on gear like that around here?"

* * *

><p>France stepped into the TARDIS and blinked. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. He stepped out, circled it, and stepped back in. It made no sense, but his eyes didn't deceive him.<p>

"It's bigger on the inside," he observed with a raised eyebrow.

France stepped further in, looking around at his surroundings. The walls, with dimensions that should have been impossible given the outside appearance of the police box, had a sort of pattern with circular spot thingies all throughout. The ceiling was high and vaulted, like a cathedral. In the center of the room there stood a column, glowing as if an independent energy source was housed within it…or beneath it. Encircling the base of the column was what looked to be a control panel. France approached it tentatively.

"'Allo, 'Allo, is zere anyone 'ere?" he called out. There was no reply.

"Doctor?" Nothing.

France took a closer look at the control panel. He had never been good with electronics, and this, he suspected, was beyond human comprehension anyway. He viewed the console with increasing dismay. How was he ever going to get out of this?

With no other alternatives, France decided to use a process of trial and error. The big lever looked important, so he decided to pull that.

The floor jerked out from under France's feet, and before he could do anything about it, it was on a collision course with his head…


End file.
